It’s hard to say when the sounds started. I felt as though the tapping and creaking may have been occurring long before I took notice. I hadn’t thought much of the noise since my apartment was a few floors up and I live right by a lake, so it must surely have been the wind, I thought, rattling the window frames. Perhaps that was wishful thinking. Each night after taking notice of the peculiar tapping, I listened a bit more closely, and each night the tapping sounded less like the screen banging against the frame, and more like, well I can’t say for certain, but it almost sounds deliberate.

  I did my best to shake the thoughts from my head, knowing fully well that I lived on the fourth floor, that there was no possible way it could have been a home invader, or anything like that. That’s what I kept telling myself, and for a few nights the mantra kept me sane, and allowed for at least some sleep. Yet even as I told myself that it was just the window being shaken by the lakeside draft, part of me felt that assessment was incorrect. Each night as the sound continued, a sense of unease grasped me tighter within its clutches. Something else had become apparent, that whenever I heard the sound, I simply couldn’t bring myself to check what it might have been. As much as I repeated to myself that it was just the wind, it seemed that part of me, a deep primal part of my mind, didn’t believe it, no matter how many times the mantra was repeated. I’m a rational man. I completed my studies in chemistry, worked in a lab, and have always taken pride in being a logical, clear-minded person. So, what was making it so hard for me to check the window to see what’s making that ever so bothersome tapping sound?

  After another week of abysmal sleep, tossing and turning as that wretched rattling and banging refused to allow me the respite of slumber, I finally resolved to overcome my nerves and address whatever had been creating the noise. The fact that my performance at work had begun to slip due to my sleep deprivation further incentivized the action. I firmly resolved that I would once and for all fix whatever was making that terrible racket, albeit during the daytime. Perhaps there was still this childlike part of me that bristled at the idea of inspecting the matter in the gloom of night. So, I made my way to the balcony window, thinking it would be a simple matter of removing an overextended branch by the window frame. As I stepped out, my throat began to dry with the realization that the old tree outside my apartment appeared to have been cut down, and after an inquiry with my landlord, I learned it had been gone for quite some time, completely removing the possibility that a wayward branch was the cause of my nightly disturbance. That, however, left me with a worse dilemma, if it wasn’t a branch, what on earth was it?

  Now with the mystery thickening, and my rational mind struggling even more desperately to figure out what could have been causing that sound, I pondered my options. My lease wasn’t due to conclude for another several months, so I was without question stuck in that apartment. Perhaps there was still a reasonable explanation as to the phenomenon, I hoped. The unfortunate aspect of the matter was that if such was the case, I would need to wait until the sound resumed, and find out for myself, most likely in the pitch black of night. I shuddered at the thought. Perhaps it was just some small creature inspecting the window for some means of entrance to escape from the cold. Maybe I had missed something during my initial inspection of the window, and it was in fact a loose scrap of wood from the frame, tapping in the wind. The more I thought about it, the more I tried to rationalize away the subtle creeping fear I was experiencing.

  I told myself that my anxiety regarding the matter was largely due to my lack of sleep, that the restlessness was the root of my looming paranoia. I embraced the mantra that the notions of ambitious home invaders (in my quiet suburb at that), of jumping shadows, monsters, and various things that go bump in the night, were all merely a side effect of my weary mind, and that the sooner I hardened my resolve to man up and inspect the window whenever it made that tapping sound, the sooner I could resolve whatever the issue was and finally get a good night’s sleep. That would fix everything, I told myself. It would finally end this miserable cycle of exhaustion and anxiety.

  I promised myself, the next night was to be the night. During the day I did my best to go about my business as usual, secure in the mindset that so long as I stayed on the course everything would get better. That day felt shorter somehow, like it had only half the sand in the hourglass as any other day. It seemed to go by so quickly, like some culprit had made off with several hours of the day. I had been off work, so I took the time to take care of some errands, and it seemed like the moment I was done, the sun was halfway below the horizon. Perhaps I was dreading my endeavor of the night more than I had convinced myself. None the less, the sun had set, the streetlights flickered on with their fluorescent buzzing, and the world grew silent. In fact, it seemed more silent than usual, like I could hear a pin drop from a mile away. It was almost a suffocating kind of silence. I felt my anxiety begin to bubble back to the surface as I considered my perception of the silence was also part of my true feelings regarding the task at hand. For as much as I tried to convince myself otherwise, I dreaded the tapping at the window, and feared even more so what might be the cause of it.

  Still, I waited, my dedication perhaps waning slightly, but remaining nonetheless as my bedroom was enveloped in cool shadows, making it feel colder than before. I didn’t bother getting under my covers. I had dawned my sleeping clothes but had no intention of attempting to sleep until I had taken care of that blasted tapping. I waited for what felt like an eternity. So long did I remain pacing the path between my bed and my door that I began to think the tapping might not come. This thought brought me great comfort. I had not considered that perhaps the issue might resolve itself. The idea that whatever component of the window or whatever nearby object was causing the tapping may have simply dislodged itself and I might finally get some worthwhile rest without the need for any sort of confrontation certainly raised my spirits.

  Unfortunately, it seemed that as soon as my hopes began to grow, they were just as quickly dashed as that same familiar rhythmic tapping emanated from the window down the hall, as it had every night before. Having caught me slightly off guard, the sudden sound made my heart race even more. I couldn’t explain why, but somehow it sounded louder than it did on previous nights. It seemed like it had gone from tapping to more of a frustrated banging against the old window. This almost made me abandon my resolve, my prior bravery in the daylight seeming to reveal itself to be nothing more than bravado, wilting like a tulip after being confronted with the first frost of winter. However, despite being shaken, I stayed strong and under my breath muttered “It’s only my imagination”. Despite this, I still found myself rummaging for an old golf club I had in the corner of my closet. I gripped the cool metal so tightly I’m sure my knuckles grew white. The blunt instrument offered slight comfort. Maybe it was just the illusion of protection, but it was sufficient to steel my resolve to begin the march down the hallway to that god forsaken window.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  I opened the bedroom door, which seemed to creak more than it usually did and began a slow march down that chilly hallway. Each step seeming to be punctuated by my heartbeat Hammering in my chest. The window was just around the corner, and I found myself involuntarily scanning the moonlit floor in front of it for shadows as I held on to that golf club for dear life, prepared to swing at just about anything that approached me at that point. Being confident that I could see no such shadows being cast across the moonlit floor in front of the window, I relaxed slightly, yet that continuous, torturous tapping refused to allow me to be fully at ease. Still, the confidence that there was nothing sinister outside the window propelled me forward with my task.

  Do you remember when you were a child, and you feared the dark? Do you remember waking up in the middle of the night because you found that you needed to use the restroom? That dread that gripped you as you realized you needed to make your way through the dark hallways of your home to alleviate your bodily needs. Maybe it was just a peculiar habit I partook in, but whenever that was the case, I always found myself frantically rushing through those halls to the bathroom. Maybe, in a form of juvenile reasoning, I thought if I moved quickly enough, the boogeymen lurking in the shadows would be unable to snatch me up. Similarly to how, as a child, one might be inclined to run up the basement stairs as fast as they could after turning off the cellar light, to ensure as little time spent in that imposing darkness as possible would secure some kind of safety.

  It gives me no pride to admit that it was with a similar fearful anxiety that I speedily inspected the window. I turned that corner and looked over every inch of it to find what was causing the tapping, moving like a madman. I looked at every corner, inspected every screw, went over every component of the window I could see, yet I could find nothing loose, nothing ajar, nothing amiss. As I was performing my frantic inspection, that juvenile rush of adrenaline was flooding through my veins. My fight or flight instinct had kicked in with gusto and the energy rush was more potent than anything I had experienced in quite some time. Maybe that rush of adrenaline was why I hadn’t noticed that as soon as I turned that corner, the tapping had ceased. Perhaps it was also why I hadn’t noticed that there wasn’t even any wind that night. All was still, and that stillness made my blood run cold. I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of wrongness. A feeling that I shouldn’t have come to the window, that I should have stayed in bed, gripped me like a vice. I should have just called my landlord and told him to fix it, was a thought that occurred to me far later than would have been useful. In that moment, I felt like an animal that had fallen for a trap, like a field mouse that had mistakenly entered a wide-open clearing where my presence would be known to a wide variety of hungry predators. The air was thick as I found my eyes darting around. Still, I could see nothing. Maybe I would be fine, I thought, if I just slowly backed away from the window and returned to my bedroom. Maybe if I did that, the horrible dread that made me feel nearly sick with worry would subside.

  However, as I backed up, my eyes travelled upwards. Slowly, dreadfully, my frame of vision migrated from the base of the window, all the way up to the top of it, and that was where I saw it. Hanging from what must have been the roof was something my mind refused to accept. It was a creature straight out of my nightmares. Clearly illuminated by the moonlight of the cloudless night, it was black with stringy ragged fur that somehow looked oily. It had a humanlike face, but I only say that because I couldn’t even begin to think of an animal to compare it to. It hung from the roof, craning its long neck downwards, turned toward me, its horrible beady eyes glinting in the moonlight, but that was far from the worst of it. The creature smiled at me from it’s hanging upside down position. It was a horrible, wicked smile, a jagged toothy grin of unmistakable hostility. This being, whatever it was, hated me, I knew that much for certain, and it seemed elated that it had finally managed to lure me close to it. But worse still than that menacing grin, was the long gangly hand that stretched down past the head with the elongated wrinkled fingers. They lacked the same black greasy fur as the rest of the creature, and in place of it was just sallow grey skin. The long fingers extended into even longer claws which I then realized, surely were the source of the tapping.

  I wanted to scream, but it was like my throat had closed, I fell backwards at the horrible sight and found myself scrambling away from the window. My heart felt like a jackhammer in my chest as all my logical reassurances were scattered like confetti in the wind by the sight of the monstrosity hanging from my roof, gazing at me with whatever wicked intent filled its cruel heart. I felt without question that the creature would smash through the window and make a quick meal of me, since it looked more than strong enough for such a feat. But to my surprise, all it did was continue the same tapping as earlier, it’s horrible digits moving like the legs of a spider. It tapped against the window slowly, and it seemed like each tap of its long-clawed fingers against the window brought it increasing joy. It seemed to revel in my terror. I watched the things taunting performance for what felt like hours. I didn’t try to make any sudden movements, for fear of provoking it. The ordeal was torturous, it felt like I was trapped in its grasp, at the mercy of whatever wicked intentions it had for me.

  I felt tears streaming from my eyes, as I grew to believe I would not live through the night. But suddenly, the monster ceased its tapping and abruptly retracted its hand and head back to the roof. This confused me, as I wasn’t sure what the damn thing wanted. Was it just toying with me? Was it sincerely letting me go? After all that, had the abomination simply lost interest in me? Perhaps it was not as much of a bloodthirsty monster, as just some meddlesome imp having some fun with me, I prayed. I slowly began to rise to my feet after a few moments of its absence. That long hallway felt even more wide open and vulnerable than it ever had before. I slowly and shakily began walking back towards my bedroom, almost beginning to think that perhaps I might survive the night yet, or even that the horrible encounter may have been a figment of my sleep deprived and paranoid mind. But then something happened that was somehow worse than anything I could have imagined. The tapping returned, but I could hear it coming from every window in the building. A symphony of horrible tapping assaulted my ears from all directions as I could also hear scuttling footsteps all over the roof. The sounds snuffed out any remnant of hope I held like a waterfall putting out a candle. With the knowledge that at least dozens of those horrid tappers were now in my midst I simply began to weep. The first one had called its friends. It knew I was here, it was attempting to lure me out all that time, so that its whole brood could partake, and it had succeeded. I crumbled into a blubbering heap there on that cold hallway floor as I awaited my cruel fate, surrounded by a resounding symphony of malicious tapping. The spell of terror the taps put me under grew to overwhelm me, as the taps and scuttles grew louder and louder, I think I finally lost my mind. The corners of my vision began to blur and gradually encompassed my whole vision. The world grew dark as I lapsed into insanity. The echoing taps grew deafening before all I could hear grew silence and all I could see went black.